


Things Of The Past

by WanderingTiredly



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Bonding, M/M, Memories, Past Felix | Isaac Gates/Locus | Samuel Ortez, Reflection, Season 15, referenced canon death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 19:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingTiredly/pseuds/WanderingTiredly
Summary: It was going to be a long ride with Dexter Grif, especially with how often he was talking and how eager he was to go through Locus' stuff. If only Locus could ignore the antsy soldier.





	Things Of The Past

**Author's Note:**

> hey, so i cried while writing this, because it made me realize a lot about these characters and how locus probably had to cope. anyway, i had fun writing it and i hope you enjoy reading it!   
> cheers! x

Grif practically vibrated in his seat, unable to sit still. He had been that way the whole ride so far, actually. Ever since Locus encountered the orange soldier, he seemed incapable of halting in his movements at all. It was clear he was missing all the action from his team. From his partner, Simmons. Locus knew the feeling all too well.

“What do you do for fun in here? Simmons and I play most useless super power. Do you ever look at street signs? Do you think _we’ll_ see any street signs? Is it hot in here--I’m bored!” The tangent Grif was going on was, at the least: annoying, and at the best: a familiar buzz in the background that Locus had been learning to live without.

Locus did what he could to ignore the other man, he had a lot on his mind--a lot to worry about. Like how that whole planet had suffered before perishing, courtesy of the leader of the so-called Blues and Reds. He needed to concoct a plan for himself and Grif based off of the vague intel the Spanish speaking robot had to provide. What was his name again? Lopez?

Grif’s leg bounced up and down as he pointed out the windows of the ship, making excited gesticulations. It was strange seeing the once lazy simulation soldier so worked up. Solitude had driven them both crazy in completely different ways. Grif was speaking more than ever and Locus could hardly find it in him to do things each day.

It seemed Grif’s latest tangent had ended and he was searching around the front of the ship, by the controls. There was a small area for storage up there. Locus knew so because he intentionally kept small possessions in there--out of reach of others, and closeby if he was in his dying moments.

With exhilaration and glee, Grif pried it open. His fingers slid in and yanked out an old worn piece of paper. “Hey! What’s this?--”

“Don’t touch that,” Locus spoke through a poorly contained growl. “It’s personal.”

Grif didn’t bother listening nor taking Locus’ outstretched arm as a sign to stop--instead, he ignored the date on the back and flipped it over. Quickly, he commented, “it’s you! Wow, you looked so cool, and young, I can’t believe it’s you and--” For the first time on the trip, Grif went silent. “Felix.”

Locus didn’t need to see the photo to know what it was of. He’d looked at it hundreds of times. Even more now, in the absence of the deceased.

The photo depicted Felix laughing. His face lit up; for once Felix was open with himself and carefree about life. Within the photo, too, was Locus, who was behind the rim of a coffee mug. In the photo, in that memory, Locus had watched onto Felix’s antics with a small, albeit genuine smile adorning his normally stony features. Siris had taken it in his home while they planned a mission. The standard bounty of a corrupt bank teller, if Locus was remembering right. It had been a very long time ago and it was getting harder to keep it all in line.

“Felix was...” Grif trailed off.

“Not always what you saw,” Locus finished, whether or not that was what Grif was going to say. He didn’t care if it was.

Wistful and melancholic, Locus continued. “At first, after the war, Felix wanted justice. The UNSC left us to die. He decided he wanted to make things difficult for the UNSC. Until one day it just wasn’t enough. He wanted others to suffer how he did. How we did.” He sighed heavily. “But that wasn’t always who he was. And I--” He stopped himself. What was he even going to say? Why would he even say it? It meant nothing now.

Grif nodded sagely, as if he had any idea the world of turmoil that Locus was facing. “Could I give you some advice?”

Locus blinked. “It is _very_ unlikely any advice you could give me would be _remotely_ useful.”

Undeterred, Grif smiled, wisely looking past him. “I have a picture, too.” He reached down, and out of his suit, where one would normally store a gun, he pulled out a photo. Nearly as worn as Locus’ own.

In it, their Sargent was standing off in the distance, armorless from the waist up, waving the flag. The pink soldier, Donut, was running after their sargent, wearing nothing but shorts, laughing and smiling all the way. Grif was holding the camera in a way that would include him in the picture. He was rolling his eyes in said picture fondly smiling at his best friend who buried his face in his hands, the human portion of his face red with embarrassment.

He could see, barely in the distance, three other soldiers. One in full armor--presumably Church, the only one who needed to stay in his metallic capsule. As well as the dark-skinned one he knew as Tucker, and the jovial brunette, Caboose.

For a moment, he realized, he would be seeing those people soon. Seeing them in this picture--younger, more innocent, more naive--it was strange. If anything Lopez had said was true, that meant right now they were damaged. And broken, a very, very broken team.

“See, that’s Church. He’s the bastard we’re on the mission for, but he’s really not so bad once you get to know him. And that’s Tucker and Caboose. Tucker’s a bit like me, except, he’s actually a pretty good soldier. Caboose is just ripped to all hell, could beat the shit out of anyone, but he’s not smart enough.” He grinned. “And then, of course, right there is Sarge. Sarge is Sarge. Loud, excitable, you know the drill. Donut is the most flamboyant guy you’ll ever meet. Loves fashion _and_ interior decorating, if you know what I’m saying. But, at heart he’s--”

“Why are you telling me this?” Locus asked, because he genuinely wanted to know. Grif had no reason to say all of this because Locus knew it all. He’d read their files, he’d fought them on the battlefield. He knew them already.

Grif sighed. “Well, a couple reasons. But mainly ‘cause I wish I could tell them... that I’m sorry. And that I miss them.” He was silent for a few beats, then he continued. “I didn’t even get to tell you about Simmons.”

Locus released a long exhale. “Alright. Go ahead.”

“Simmons is... like the only person I actually super like. He’s a total nerd, he’s obnoxious, but he’s... a good friend, I guess. We watch _Battlestar Galactica_ together. We talk _Matrix_ together. We can find anything to talk about, but when we aren’t talking... it’s okay. It’s a comfortable time. You know?”

He did know.

But he wasn’t going to say anything.

“And now that we’re separated, I guess I forgot how important he was in my life. It’s dumb. He’s dumb, Locus.” Resignedly, he admitted, “I guess I’m dumb, too.” Locus carefully handed back the photo. He understood better than anyone how important pictures were. All the memories they held, the good times they encaptured.

Felix loved photos. He loved how he himself looked in them and also liked to point out Locus’ responses caught in the moment. Loved to capture each individual moment and reminisce on it. Another piece of proof that they were alive, Felix had said, was pictures.

“Siris, the man who took this photo.” He gestured to his own picture carefully. “Was a great man. We...” Locus had never spoken about it before. Not with anyone. Him and Felix swore it off the first time they tried. It was too hard, too much to try and ponder what they could have done differently to maybe have saved the one man who could’ve saved them. It was ironic, really, that in trying to save them, Siris had damned them. “We lost him on a mission. He died protecting us. And... he was my best friend. I miss him, too. So, I know that feels.”

Grif nodded, before saying, “Simmons is more than a best friend, I think. But, uh yeah. Yeah, dude.”

“If we’re opening that, then you’d be surprised to know that Felix and I were...” He cut the words short. “As you said.”

Grif gaped. “What? You and Felix? What! No way! I mean... him? And you! You guys fought all the time.”

Locus scowled. “Maybe. We took the Chorus mission after we lost Siris. We didn’t heal and it led me here.” Softly, he spoke so softly because the words hurt him too much to properly admit, “without him.”

“Were you guys ever like... domestic and shit?”

Locus barked out a strangled laugh. A sound he didn’t even recognize anymore. “No.”

He turned to face Grif. The man was staring, slack jawed, eyebrows risen in confusion. “Dude. You just laughed.”

“I did,” Locus confirmed. Grif looked like he was going to make a comment, but Locus stopped him. “Felix and I met in war, Grif. We retired as bounty hunters. The most _domestic_ thing we did was me making us coffee for mornings after tough missions.”

“Dude. You have a heart.”

Locus furrowed his brow. “Yes. It beats here.” He pointed down at himself. The sarcastic banter felt... normal. It made his chest ache for the absence of Felix.

“No, I mean like... you totally loved him and shit. Fuck, Locus, I’m sorry.”

Locus scowled. Love? That wasn’t right. The entire mess obfuscated him terribly. Him and Felix were so intertwined into each other’s lives, so ingrained in the other’s being--but that wasn’t right. There was no way they were in love. Sure, Locus had been intimate with him. And it was true they spent nearly all of their time together--before Chorus separated them, that was. But love?

Romance novels described it with so much flowery language that Locus wasn’t sure what to make of it. He had once admired Felix, sure. Felix took pride in his work, and he was great at it. Locus knew that. And there was the fact that Felix did make his heart race. With anticipation, with anger, with... well, not for a long time, but once there had been fondness. So maybe the novels had something right.

Maybe he had loved Felix, all those years ago. Now though, he was empty. He was still cynical and more alone than ever. But that begged the question: Did Felix ever love him? Was Felix even capable of such? Or was he just angry that his partner wanted nothing to do with him?

Locus pushed him away on Chorus. Was it really a surprise that Felix had grown resentful and desperate?

“I don’t know, Grif.”

And he didn’t. He didn’t know. Santa, that stupid Alien AI, was right. He didn’t know anything, it seemed.

“You were better than him,” Grif said, but his voice sounded muted in Locus’ ears. Everything was hard to hear, like he was submerged in water. He was caught in a tsunami of confusion and hurt, being dragged into the sea of sadness and melodrama.

Needing to pull himself out of it, he spoke, “No I wasn’t.”

He’d been manipulated by Felix, sure. Felix hadn’t wanted him to walk away after Siris’ death, as he’d originally intended. But Felix didn’t force him to pull the trigger. He knew that. He was to blame, too.

Grif huffed. “Do you have any others photos?”

He did. Inside the glove compartment was an old flash-drive. Practically cavemen technology in this day and age, but... it had everything he had left of that era. He never touched it on Chorus and regretted that dearly. Maybe that would’ve pulled him back to his humanity.

“Countless,” he answered. Most of them were of him and Felix. Quite a few of Siris. Maybe of Megan, and their sons Miles and Monty. “You... may look at them.” Quickly he added, “if you wish.”

Grif smiled. “Yeah, dude. I don’t have too many from Blood Gulch, but Donut does. I’ll show you them sometime.”

That sounded good. Sounded like something a normal person would take up in a heartbeat, and he was doing what he could to become normal again. _I’m not a machine,_ he reminded himself. Felix had told him that, once, in a fit of sadness and anger. He’d pointed his finger and importuned with him to _just listen_.   
  
He’d ignored him, then. Before Chorus and after Siris, it was in that knowledge that he knew Felix truly wasn’t alone in the blame for what happened.

“A flashdrive? Christ, how old are you?” Grif joked, pulling it out.

Locus smiled softly. Felix probably would’ve said the same thing. A long time ago.

A _long_ time ago.

A time like in the picture.

* * *

 

 


End file.
